The Audubon Societies 



lOI 



Between 689 and 740 A.D. a very learned poet named Meng Hao-jan lived 

 and wrote. He went to the hills after spending forty years in study and from 

 his pen we may take these delicate pearls of thought: 



"The red gleam o'er the mountains 

 Goes wavering from sight, 

 And the quiet moon enhances 

 The loveliness of night. 



"The night wind tells me secrets 

 Of lotus lilies blue; 

 And hour by hour the willows 

 Shake down the chiming dew. 



"Over the chain of giant peaks 

 The great red sun goes down, 

 And in the stealthy floods of night 

 The distant valleys drown. 



"Yon moon that cleaves the gloomy pine 

 Has freshness in her train; 

 Low wind, faint stream and waterfall 

 Haunt me with their refrain. 



"The tired woodman seeks his cot 

 That twinkles up the hill; 

 And sleep has touched the wanderers 

 That sang the twilight still." 



What rare sympathy with Nature this poet had, to present to us in so few 

 simple lines such a wealth of beauty ! Lute in hand, he wandered "through the 

 fragrant dew-lit ways" to meet a friend, filled with the beauty of the night. 

 Can you hear the willows hour by hour "shake down the chiming dew," as he 

 watched the "stealthy floods of night" drown the distant valleys? Can you 

 see the gleam of light twinkling up the hill from the woodman's cottage and 

 can you feel that moment of silence when sleep touched the wandering birds 

 "that sang the twilight still?" 



These poets of long ago knew the birds better than we suspect, and the 

 flowers, trees, skies and mountains, too. Take a few random lines from other 

 Chinese poets who lived before the year 1000 A.D. : 



"Night is at hand; the night winds fret afar, 

 The North winds moan. The waterfowl are gone 

 To cover o'er the sand-dunes; dawn alone 

 Shall call them from the sedges. Some bright star 

 Mirrors her charms upon the silver shoal." 



'Oh! she is good, the little rain! and well she knows our need 

 Who Cometh in the time of spring to aid the sundrawn seed; 

 She wanders with a friendly mind through silent nights unseen, 

 The furrows feel her happy tears, and lo! the land is green." 



"The yellow dusk winds round the city wall: 

 The crows are drawn to nest. 

 Silently down the west 

 They hasten home, and from the branches call." 



"I too have felt the wild-bird thrill of song ..." 



